Triturus
by Imperial Mint
Summary: Written for MarcoAce Week Day 5. The son of a cold nobleman, Marco takes pleasure from the gardens and meets one of the new servants. Ace leaves him with a question and far, far more.


**Pairing: **Marco x Ace  
**Notes: **Written for Day 5 of MarcoAce week. The theme for Day 5 was Dancing.

I had no idea what to write for this and it's not... dancing-dancing? Still, enjoy!

**.**

The windowsill offered a dull view of the gardens. There were no plants by the house – at the insistence of his father – and it had only been his mother's pleading that had spared the gardens being torn up and concreted over. A waste of time, his father called nature. Perhaps that was why Marco loved it so much.

Marco had never been the man his father had wanted. He'd never been interested in joining the hunt, though he'd taken pleasure in exercising both the horses and the hounds. He'd enjoyed studying to shooting, but had no plans to become a doctor, as his father had suggested firmly. Marco had no interest in his father's world, following in the footsteps of his mother who took to travelling the world instead of cooping herself up in a loveless home.

Every day, without fail, Marco walked the gardens. Sun, rain, hail, sleet, any weather. His father always watched him leave the house with a glare on his face (Marco could tell by the way he'd hold himself in the window frame), but he'd keep walking, gravel crunching underfoot and the scent of jasmine and rose washing over him.

The garden was his escape. Marco didn't have to think about his studies or how his father was grooming him to take over the family business. All he had to think about were the bright flowers surrounding him and the scent of freedom on the breeze.

A bench sat in the centre of the gardens, by a small pond and under a willow tree. It was Marco's favourite place, but he paused today, a figure already on his bench.

The man was dressed in the house serving uniform, sandwich and plate on his lap. He was relaxed, stretched out on the bench. Marco didn't recognise him and figured he was one of the newer staff members, one who thankfully hadn't been shied away by his father's stern instructions. According to his father, servants weren't meant to be seen unless they were serving.

Marco approached the bench and the man's eyes opened wide, plate tipping onto the floor as he stood up quickly. The plate didn't break, but the sandwich landed with a dismal flop, grass stalks waving over it merrily.

"It's okay," Marco said. "I'm only here to enjoy the garden as you are. You're always welcome here."

The man looked at him as if he was speaking another language, eyes wide. He lowered his eyes to the sandwich, making haste to pick it up and dust it off.

"Sir," he said politely, eyes glancing at the empty space he'd occupied moments before, beside Marco. "It's not fit for me to be around you. The boss made that clear, I only thought the gardens were never visited. I will not make the mistake again. Sir."

The man's voice was tight and clipped, a perfect servant's voice. He was subdued, eyes downcast, sandwich in hand.

"Those are my father's rules, not mine. He cannot see the garden from the house and you are free to use the grounds as you wish. I don't ask for you to leave, all I ask is that you do what you want." Marco looked the man in the eye.

"And please, call me Marco." He smiled and the man returned it, placing his sandwich on the plate and sitting beside Marco, though he held himself upright and looked extremely uncomfortable still.

They sat in silence, the man finishing his sandwich slowly, still awkwardly perched on the bench.

"I work in the household management," the man said suddenly. "I began at the beginning of the month. My name's Ace, Sir." His head was downcast, avoiding any and all contact with Marco. It wasn't that Ace didn't want to be there, but clearly Marco's father had spoken to him firmly.

Marco was a disgrace anyway though and had no regard for anything his father said. Servants were people still.

"Just Marco," he said. "I'm hardly my father's favourite person so don't feel the need to maintain ridiculous rules here. In the house under his eye then perhaps, though it still bothers me."

Ace turned his head, a considering look on his face.

"Bothers you?" he repeated and looked down at his empty plate. "I can see why you wouldn't be the boss' favourite person." He snorted and then looked at Marco in horror.

"Sorry, I-" Ace started, but Marco didn't need his apologies.

"He threatened to disown me because I took my studies in the kitchen and taught some of the servants a little. If it wouldn't bring him more shame, he'd definitely disown me." Marco smirked and Ace relaxed a little. "Father doesn't like scandal, that's why my parents never divorced."

Ace stared at him with furrowed brows, breaking into a wide smile.

"You know, I didn't believe them when they said you were different," he said, shaking his head with a laugh. He sat back on the bench.

"I have to get back to work," Ace said and Marco nodded. There was a pause, then Ace stood with a groan, stretching himself out. "Have you ever noticed the bees, Marco?" he asked, then walked off without another word, smile on his lips.

The bees?

**.**

Marco saw Ace sparingly over the next few weeks. His father was concerned with an upcoming trip abroad and had Marco running over the details, more to exert his authority than for actual work. Marco still made his trip to the garden every day, but he didn't stay long and Ace was never there.

"Surely, you're not thinking of pursuing insects," his father said by his shoulder. Marco sighed, closing the book on bees he'd been reading, mind still puzzled over Ace's comment. Why bees?

"Just a passing interest, father," Marco said with a sigh, setting the book down and returning to the papers he'd been given to review.

He was able to finish early and retreat to the garden, where he sat watching flies and bumblebees thread through the garden. Marco still found no answer and he startled when someone sat next to him.

"It's not the bumblebees," Ace said. "It's the honeybees."

Marco looked at him in curiosity.

"You see, they do this thing, this… wiggle. I heard it's called a dance." Ace narrowed his eyes, dipping his head to the side. "They say it's for communication. The bees find something and dance to tell the others."

Ace was smiling brightly, face jovial and Marco felt a stab in his heart, a feeling he'd read heaps of books about, but never experienced. He swallowed, mouth suddenly dry, and looked from Ace to the lavender that sat beside the bench.

"I must admit I am jealous of them," Ace said. He sounded sad and Marco continued his scan of the plants. There were bumblebees climbing up and down flowers, but the honeybee proved to be elusive thus far.

"They're free to roam, working for their queen. Their sole objective is their family, to raise the next generation and provide. They don't have mouths and so they can't speak, but they can still communicate." Ace leant forward, knee knocking against Marco's gently.

"All the challenges they face and all the ways they could talk to each other, they learnt to dance." Ace turned to him and Marco abandoned the lavender, counting the freckles across Ace's nose instead.

"I want to show you their dance one day," Ace said, tilting his head to the side. "Even if it's only once."

Marco was speechless. His knee was warm, Ace filling him through the barest of touches. He looked away from Ace's freckles, catching his warm eyes and moved forwards slowly. He inhaled, lowering his lips to kiss Ace gently, catching warm skin against his own.

"Forgive me," he murmured as he pulled away, eyes retreating to the lavender. "I took without asking."

A hand slid over Marco's fingers, grasping at his wrist. Marco turned back to Ace, noting the light flush of his cheeks and the wide, desperate look in his eyes.

"You can't ask for what you already have," he said, laughing a second later at the words. "I mean it though, I've never told anyone else about the bees and I don't plan to."

Marco moved in again, savouring the kiss this time. The taste of cinnamon lingered still from what Marco presumed had been Ace's lunch and he moved their bodies closer, hungry for every touch Ace could give him.

They stayed next to the lavender and under the willow tree for a while, listening to the hum of bumblebees. Their eyes were only for each other and their hands lay entwined, safe inside their garden. They had to part, however, but things had changed now and Marco walked back to the house with a smile, greeting his father cheerfully for the first time in years.

**.**

"Shit," Marco cursed, hands steady as his heart pounded a drum in his chest. His fingers slipped against the safe lock and he took a deep breath, forcing himself to calm. It wouldn't do to get caught now, not at the last moment.

The safe finally clicked and Marco let out a deep breath, taking the money inside. There were a few documents too and he eyed them suspiciously, reading through them before putting them back. He wouldn't need deeds that could trace him back where he was going. The money he'd stolen would be enough.

Marco shut the safe and grabbed the bag he'd packed, stealing through the dark house like a ghost. He'd never planned to run away from home, even when his father had been hounding him day and night for all the disgraces he'd brought upon the house. Marco had never had any reason to leave before, but now that his place was threatened – or more correctly, now that Ace's place was threatened – Marco would stop at nothing to leave this toxic house.

This night had to be the night, and Marco stepped into the kitchen. A soft light was on, candles lining the table, and Ace looked up in surprise, eyes widening when he saw the bag on Marco's shoulder.

Marco had known that Ace was on duty tonight. The on-site staff would be asleep now, as well as his father, there was no other time to run away than now.

"What are you doing? Marco?" Ace stood, chair screeching across the floor. Marco cringed at the sound, hoping it hadn't woken anyone.

"My father knows about us," he said and Ace's face paled. "You can stay – I have a letter that explains how I forced you to shame the family in my bag, I can leave it behind to protect you. Or you can come with me."

Marco's stomach twisted. He didn't want Ace to stay, but he couldn't make a decision like that for him. So he had provided an excuse, to let Ace remain safely if he chose to stay. They both couldn't live under Marco's father anymore, their relationship was something he could never tolerate.

"Marco-" Ace began, confusion clear on his face. "What do you mean, where are you going?"

"I have money," Marco said quickly. "I'm moving out of the city, somewhere quiet. Somewhere with a garden, somewhere the honeybees dance." He moved his hand out to brush Ace's cheek, smiling sadly.

Ace's hand reached to remove Marco's. Confusion was still in his eyes, but he moved away from the chair and Marco. Jolts of panic filled Marco and he waited, clenching his jaw as Ace circled the kitchen and returned to him.

"I can come with you?" he asked, voice quiet and full of excitement. Marco nodded, not trusting his words.

Ace was before him in an instant, kissing him and wrapping his arms around Marco's shoulders.

"I'll get my bag, we'll run away!" He laughed, pulling away from Marco and vanishing.

Marco never heard from his father again, but it didn't sadden him. He wondered some days what the garden looked like, whether it was still cared for, and mourned leaving that. Still, Marco had done what he'd had to do and their own garden had a bench surrounded by flowers.

They'd both found work in a grand house at the end of the village they'd moved to. The old man who lived there – Edward Newgate – had hired Ace on the spot to join his team of staff (and what an old man needed with so many people on staff, none of them really knew, but Whitebeard, as Newgate preferred to be called, called them cures for his loneliness).

For Marco, securing a job had been a little harder, until Whitebeard had learnt he'd been the son of a nobleman and could write clearly. There were documents on fading paper to be copied and Whitebeard put Marco to work, allowing him to write in the gazebo outside when the weather was warm enough.

The sound of a door shutting alerted Marco to Ace's return and he smiled tiredly, offering Ace a sip of his coffee. Ace took the mug thankfully and sat down beside him, the wooden bench creaking slightly.

"Oyaji's planning on going overseas over the summer," Ace said, resting his head on Marco's shoulder. "He says he'll take Izo and Thatch with him. He's getting a set of keys cut for us."

Marco smiled. Whitebeard trusted them implicitly and they him. He was the father Marco had always wanted and the family both he and Ace had always needed.

"Marco," Ace said quietly. Marco had never heard his voice quite so excited and he frowned. "Look at the roses."

White roses sat near the bench and Marco looked, smiling widely as he saw what Ace had meant. On one of the large flowers stood a bee, small and unassuming. It was wiggling its body, another honeybee nearby.

"It's dancing," Ace said and Marco wrapped an arm around him, watching the bees dance.

"I love you," he said and Ace kissed the forearm that had fallen across his chest.

"I love you too," he replied, dancing bees forgotten as he shifted, kissing Marco in their own private paradise.

**.**

Reviews are always appreciated, I hope you enjoyed! I still have two stories left, but I'm only 1 day behind now. Hah I doubt I'll make it on time with the other two though!


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